


iron testaments and omakes

by Ziannis (Xenopolitan)



Series: CONVERGENCE [2]
Category: CONVERGENCE - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenopolitan/pseuds/Ziannis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>side stories from iron testaments and dread algebra</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shegani blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archas tells Aziza a story from her past. Told while looking for the Gentlemen in Chapter 11

_You know that before I 'settled' on the Big Three Earths, to be with y'all, I was a star pilot? Yeah, s'not exactly a secret. But what you don't know, is where I went, why I went there, and what I did. I visited a whole mess of places, from Ashei Station out near Titan, to the nasty-ass backwater Agnehm-1, but this story is about Shegani._  
_Now indigenous legend says Shegani once had green ocean and deep blue skies, multicolored grass fields and towering forests, but all this was eons ago._  
The planet is near an Anomaly, a big ol' magnetic storm that warps space travel, sending damaged ships by the score hurtling into Shegani's atmosphere, and this had an effect. Seas of rust-dyed punkwater and crude oil, landscapes of shredded alloy, the whole planet is coal-black, rust-red, and steel-grey from orbit, whatever biomes it once had long-buried under a crust of scrap, junk and waste.  
The native species are all grown to take advantage of the metal-and-plastic badlands, from the brilliant bilani to the ruskel tinkers (who breed like bunnies), both real shorties, to the massive metal-eating sydirrians and the parasitic pinara, who change wildly based on their most recent hosts.   
By the time my day rolled around, people from the Confederation of Sapient Peoples had been landing on Shegani for about seven years. The main center of trade was Novahome, a massive colony-ship from another when, that the ruskel turned from a corroding hunk of junk into a corroding hunk of capital city.  
Shegani was in two pieces, long since split by the neverending barrage of space junk, held together by the Star-Tether, a big-ass chain-shaped space station built by the bilani. Split open like it was, just a little antigrav tech made Shegani prime mining space, all the veins and lodes left on display, neat as a school diagram. The biggest discovery here, ripe with implication, was a rich vein of solarite-281, crystal that contains the power of a star hidden in its facets.  
Rare, dangerous, and exceedingly valuable, it attracted the attention of the crew of the Yamaraj,  _a ship of the White Bat pirate coalition, full of scofflaws and renegades. The White Bats held the Tether hostage, threatening to blow it up with a stolen fission bomb unless they were allowed to mine the solarite and escape. I was wandering the surface looking for stuff to hock, and stumbled on the waystation to the Tether..._  
"Hey, you! No civilians here, we have a situation!"  
the CSP officer shouted, drawing a massive taser sidearm from his belt. I held up my ID, showing my Steele Tech credentials.  
"I'm corporate high-personnel, just passing through. What's the situation, Sergeant?" He holstered his weapon, waving me over the barrier.   
"Well, Ms Steele, White Bat pirates are holding the planet hostage, for some damn rock. None of our people can get down there, Shegani isn't technically CSP yet."  
I flashed him my trademark winning grin.   
"Sounds like you need a gorgeous, ripped spacer to go down and knock some heads. Won't do it for free, you know."  
He nodded, revealing he was totally expecting me to squeeze him for cash.   
"Bring them out alive, don't destroy the planet or CSP property, don't get maimed, enslaved or killed. Then, we'll talk."  
  
I swooced on over to the entrance, past the barricades, and cright in, cause at this point in my life I was like 7 feet tall and had six legs. Gorgeous, right?   
So there was a ramp, just lined with these robots. Like giant, disgusting soup cans with guns. Like the bastion of diplomacy I have always been, I drew my gun of choice at the time, (it was this hella metal slugthrower the size of an earth goddess's thigh, it was awesome) and ventilated the damn cans. Then, this little, tiny cambion girl, looked like the worst conglomeration of anime catgirl tropes my ass has ever seen, stomped up.   
"HEY! NOBODY breaks DIAMOND HEAD TAM'S toys! Get ready to die, asshole!"  
I just kinda reached down and picked her up by the head.   
"Are you gonna make my job easier, or will I need to loot your unconscious catgirl butt?" She reached for this big, ugly grenade pistol on her hip, and that was an answer right there. I sighed and smacked her against the wall. Had to do it again, she came by her name honestly. In the pocket of her tiny, greasy jorts was a card, pretty obviously a key to the door behind her. I scuttled on through, (hard not to scuttle when you have six legs honestly) and came face to face with the greatest foe I have ever faced.  
An elevator built by space gnomes.  
Cramming my ten feet of ass into the can, I spent an exceedingly uncomfy 30 minutes riding the 'vator down to the core of the Tether, where the doors opened onto a web of antigravity struts. I strapped on a set of magnetic boots, and scampered along the strut, to the core zone.  
  
_Without gravity, and only magnetism to keep me from drifting between rocks like the world's sexiest pinball, I walked along the underside of the struts into the main zone, where there was this_ huge  _protean lady. Not, like,_ me  _huge, but big. She had gorgeous coppery skin with swirly horn protrusions along her head and limbs, and a minigun with gross lil trophies hanging off it. She yelled something in some native dialect, introduced herself as "Casca Beanfloor" or some shit, and opened fire. I tanked it, and shot her in the clavicle, looting her unconscious body for a detonator and a handful of corn chips._  
_I..._  
_I can't tell you about what happened next, Aziza. I thought I could, but I can't, not yet. What happened to Khorgan Brytheck is...it wasn't pretty._  
  
The mesmerizing cadence of Archas's storytelling voice falters and cuts out, and she cuts back a sob. Aziza immediately wraps her in a hug.   
"It's okay, Archas. You don't have to tell me until you're ready."  
Archas wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.   
"Thanks, Ziz. I'll tell you someday. Let's, let's go find the guys, ok?"  
Aziza nods, pointing down the street.  
"Let's go!"


	2. worlt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the first worldbuilding segment

_The common story told to explain the Three Worlds is a concerted effort by vague and ill-defined Powers joining forces to stabilize a system of realities made unstable by unknown forces. This is correct, in the vaguest and most incorrect of manners. To truly know why, to find the answers to the questions that form the struts of this new and exceedingly complex yet breathtakingly simple universe we find ourselves in today, sacrifices must be made. Sanity, faculty, relationship, power, and personal reality are privileges, granted to those who are content to dabble in only the most surface-based and irrelevant of secrets. Sooner or later, you'll run out of all these and more if you continue to seek the Words that Hold the Worlds. If you haven't turned back from this path yet, then light a candle for those before you, leave a note for those after, and get some rest, for you may never see another peaceful night again._

 

_The first and most understood of the three primary schools of magic is wizardry, the Hermetic Art. Wizards use ritual, implements, ingredients, invocation and time to cast spells that may not be flashy or quick, but are reliable, known, and often long-lasting. Wizardry can be expensive, fiddly and time-consuming, but it produces consistent, replicable results. Wizards are often not risk-takers, as the Art requires a steady hand, a good memory, and, quite often, deep pockets, but there are those wizards who are just desperate for magic, for anything that makes them special. These wizards practice an unstable and dangerous form of the Art, less spontaneous than sorcery, less work-oriented than wizardry, and with a higher price than thaumaturgy, these casters are called warlocks, and are rightfully feared and shunned._

 

_Sorcery is the form often thought of by the person on the street when asked to think of magic, flashy and powerful spells wrought by the heirs of various bloodlines. A sorcerer is born, not made, with an inherent talent to channel and shape magic. Sorcery happens on demand, and is potent, but often unpredictable, as when the caster calls for power she knows her call will be answered, but not what will answer it. Bloodline often influences this, such as the heir of a devil possessing flame or illusions, or a dragon-blood having powers of change and presence. Sorcery also comes with a Vileness, a physical or psychological price to pay for such power, granted without effort or searching. Burns, temporary blindness, bloodletting, paranoia, there is always a painful price for channeling potent magic. Sorcerers are resented by wizards much of the time, as a wizard worked for their magic and a sorcerer was born to it. Potent and dangerous, the sorcerer is valued and feared for her power._

 

_Thaumaturgy, the third of the common branches of magic, and simultaneously the most formulaic and the least understood, is often mistaken and feared by the layman. A thaumaturgist gains magical capability through calling creatures and entities, and making deals with them. These deals take the form of Service, where the called being takes physical form to serve the caller, Riding, where the called resides within the caller to offer advice and knowledge, Indwelling, where the called and caller are melded to share power and abilities, and Counsel, where the called is asked questions but not released from the caller's preferred medium of summoning. Many organized religions, such as the Church of the Auctor, the Shining Point, and the Followers of the Green, abominate thaumaturgy, seeing it as congress with unclean spirits and a blight to the mortal soul. Certainly it carries a risk unseen in other branches of the Art, but a canny and learned thaumaturge can keep their head above water and their magic strong._

 

 

_Three Worlds orbit each other, the seat of civilization in the post-Convergence worlds. Ultimos, wild, unrefined, full of the strong, savage, beautiful and dangerous. Orbis, richest in relic and ruin, a beautiful landscape that is but a veneer over dense layers of ancient structures and remains. And Mundus, once known as Earth, with familiar but strangely altered geography and culture, some lands and nations raised, and others lost. Between these worlds and their complex orbits dart and loop three moons, silver, crater-marked Selin, cracked, chain-bound Hadroe, and twelve-sided, water-filled Mavar. Colonies and stations mark these moons, as well as many of the smaller asteroids and planetoids scattered around Nova Sol, the system's reborn sun. And other crafts and vessels spread from Nova Sol, bringing the mixed sapients of the Three Worlds to the other planets of this new universe._

 

 

 

 


End file.
